


Guy Time

by telekinesiskid



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Brief References to Abuse, Drinking, F/M, Graphic descriptions of cunnilingus, more comedic than erotic, not a how-to guide, set during dt, yeah that's basically it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6808663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telekinesiskid/pseuds/telekinesiskid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gansey gets drunk, his inhibitions drop. He volunteers some advice that Adam didn't even remotely ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guy Time

**Author's Note:**

> it's been approx 10 bajillion years since I last wrote anything half-decent so hERE. this is embarrassingly heterosexual and I'm sorry.
> 
> bless the lovely [kiiouex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kiiouex/pseuds/kiiouex) for reigning me in when shit got too creepy/graphic :')

One of the many things Adam liked about Gansey was that he never drank to get drunk. It had taken Adam months to notice that Gansey even drank at all; for Adam, _drinking_ was far from synonymous with _cheery_ and _placated._ Certain associations had scarred and crossly healed over in his lifetime; drinking meant pricked ears. It meant battered lamps and kicked-over bins and thumped furniture. It meant trying not to flinch as his father shouted until he was red in the face, until Adam was purple in the face. Drinking meant painful, fearful, tearful nights.

But not to Gansey. To Gansey, it was a reactional habit. It was intimate soirees and extravagant black-tie events. It was the unwind after a long week. Gansey drank beer as though he actually _liked_ the flavour; he sipped at it like the goal wasn’t so much to become blind-drunk as it was to savour the taste, unlike Ronan, who would guzzle the equivalent of jet fuel and burn his whole oesophagus out if it promised to put him out of his mind. But Gansey was quiet, relaxed, responsible. Adam sure as hell didn’t admire drinking, but he admired the way Gansey drank.

It was a Friday night – just turned Saturday morning. Adam had hoped that he’d make it back to his apartment, but as the night wore on, it had started to look less and less likely. Every instance Adam had thought _I should go_ and stood to leave, Gansey had a new conversation hook for him, a new topic of interest, a new story to share, and Adam forgot why he was even standing. He sat back down, appraised the couple of bottles nested beside Gansey. It was a dark malt, Gansey had told him, but Adam didn’t know what that meant; he didn’t know beer nearly as well as Gansey did. The glass was black, the label a forest green, and the logo wasn’t so proletarian that Adam could immediately place it. Beer like that wasn’t sold in any of the places Adam could afford to shop.

Adam stared at Gansey. He wondered if, finally, after a few hours and a few bottles, the alcohol was starting to take effect on him. Throughout the conversation they’d managed to keep stretching out, Gansey had undeniably… slowed down. He’d turned sluggish, drowsy, slack. His posture had loosened and now he relied on the brick wall of Monmouth to keep his back propped up. His smiles had become lazy, imperfect, un-Gansey-like. His tone was low – not slurred, but low. He wasn’t as keenly aware as he always was with how his speech walked the thin, indefinable lines between confident and arrogant, purposeful and dismissive, sympathetic and pitying.

Gansey didn’t stare back at Adam. He stared off into the distance instead as he brought his beer back to his lips, said nothing. The silence between them was easy, companionable. Safe. He was warm, if a little over-familiar. It was cold in Monmouth, but, tonight, the cold couldn’t seem to touch him. If this was Gansey drunk, then Adam was more than fine with it.

It didn’t look as though Gansey remembered it hadn’t always been just the two of them; Adam asked, knocking a knee against his, “Is Lynch okay?”

“Hm?” Gansey blinked over at him with perpetually lidded eyes, eyebrows raised. A second too long and then: “Oh—yes, I’m sure he’s fine. He always finds something better to do. I wouldn’t worry.” He unearthed his phone from his pocket. Lynch had been with them earlier that evening, but his five-minute whiskey run had somehow elapsed into an hour. “It’s not as though calling him would be of any use.”

“Try it,” Adam said anyway, and Gansey dutifully called, pressing the phone to his ear. They waited for a moment and then started as the floorboards droned under the vibrations of Ronan’s cell phone, a few feet behind them and underneath someone’s shed jacket. Gansey’s answering sigh was far from surprised.

Adam reached for it as Gansey hung up. “Take it if you want,” Gansey murmured, putting his own phone away. “He probably wouldn’t miss it.”

“Tempting,” Adam said, but he raised his arm and pushed the phone onto Gansey’s desk. “He might have the right idea, though. Phones are more trouble than they’re worth.” He paused for a moment before correcting, “They’re more money than they’re worth.”

Gansey raised his beer in an empty, non-committal sort of gesture before he took another effortless swig.

Adam’s eyes dipped down. Gansey’s legs were stretched out by his side, just as Adam’s legs stretched out by Gansey’s side, a very thin ravine between them. It slowly dawned on Adam that it was just the two of them now – no Lynch to mock and deride his cluelessness when it came to subjects not covered in a classroom. Adam found his voice had become very quiet. “Gansey, I wonder if we could… talk about Blue.”

Gansey nodded in a vacant way, like the words were still catching up to him. It was as if there were a full two or three second delay between them, like a lagging skype call – much less seamless than all of their preceding talk. He didn’t stop nodding as he processed what Adam had said and responded, “Yeah, of course. How are you two getting on, then?”

The shrug Adam returned was weak. “I don’t know. Good, I suppose? But… I want to… to kiss her, you know.” Adam swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He could feel a little heat creep into his face; it was a relief that Gansey was already so rosy-cheeked that there was no competition. “And I think maybe she wants to kiss me, too, but… Her curse…”

Gansey nodded again. “…I see. Well.” His face sat blank for a time – almost long enough for Adam to think he’d dropped off the radar completely – until he suddenly said, out of nowhere, “Have—do you know how to go down on a girl?”

Adam stared at Gansey, his heart stammering in his chest. Somehow he knew that he had not misheard Gansey, but a part of him still ran through a glossary of phrases that sounded similar, because he could not believe that Gansey had really just used those words, in that order, with that intention. He could barely work out if Gansey was _asking,_ or if this was some kind of prank made in bad taste. He waited for Gansey to laugh, to grin, to diffuse the _weird_ vibe he’d suddenly thrown out there – all Gansey did was take another nonchalant sip of beer.

“…No,” Adam eventually responded, tone low and guarded. Adam’s brow furrowed as Gansey nodded and put down his beer so that he could talk with both hands.

“Okay.” He sighed and launched right into it without ceremony. “I can’t… I really can’t stress the importance of foreplay enough. Foreplay is a must. Erogenous zones,” he dully listed them off on his fingers, “Ears, neck, hands, br—if she allows, breasts, stomach, thighs… Basically everywhere. She ought to be very aroused before you’re even between her legs.”

Adam was too stunned to respond. His insides squirmed; he so desperately didn’t want to be meeting Gansey’s eyes as he said the word ‘foreplay’, but he was incapable of looking away. He regretted ever broaching the topic that had somehow, impossibly, led to this. He imagined Ronan bursting through the door with a crate of whiskey and a racy story about how an unexpected run-in with Kavinsky, but it didn’t happen. Adam felt bolted to the floor, encased in cement, a monument to _what-the-fuck-is-happening,_ and there were no other distractions, so Gansey pressed on.

“When you start to lick her,” – Adam felt his stomach somersault several times over – “do _not_ go straight for her clitoris…”

Adam couldn’t listen. He _didn’t_ listen. He heard all the words but he couldn’t parse them; every time he heard another sex term fall from Gansey’s loosened tongue, he was catapulted into an unfamiliar world of bewilderment and humiliation. He knew what a ‘clitoris’ was – sort of – and ordinarily he wouldn’t have let it fluster him this badly, but he felt like he was receiving a sex talk from a mentor. His cheeks burned, matching Gansey’s, and then surpassing Gansey’s.

While Gansey was drunk enough that he started to stumble over his careless words, Adam remained horrifically sober.

“It’s very sensitive, Adam,” Gansey was saying, embarrassingly earnest, “Absolutely _no_ teeth. The last thig--thing you want to do is hurt her. Girls vary in how they like it, so, it’s important that you take notice of her responses. If she seems to like a certain stroke or, or rhythm – keep at it. If she seems unresponsive, try something else. It won’t ruin the mood to ask for a little clarification, either. ‘Like that?’”

Gansey imitated the quiet, breathy voice of someone who was, presumably, eating a girl out, and a little voice in Adam’s mind pushed through the fog to plead _make him stop._

Adam’s mouth opened; miraculously, sound come out. “Gansey—”

 _“Oh,”_ Gansey cut him off, his exclamation louder than he’d meant it to be. “I forgot to mention: it could take a while, so I’d recommemb—suggest getting comfortable beforehand. Your mouth _will_ get sore, and your tongue _will_ get tired. So use your hands; they’re not just for Cabeswater. Find her g-spot – you know where her g-spot is?”

“Gansey,” Adam tried again, “God, Gansey, please just…”

He trailed off, unable to think of a polite way to tell Gansey to shut up. He watched warily as Gansey lifted a hand to crook a finger at him. For a wild second, Adam couldn’t tell if that was the demonstration or if it was Gansey beckoning him closer; when he worked it out, he felt a pummel of discomfort travel from his throat to his stomach. He hated to think that Gansey had made his own way here from an innocuous conversation about _Blue._

Adam had no idea how Gansey could _say_ all this to him, head on, unblinking, and still live with himself. This wasn’t what Adam knew as _Gansey._

“Gansey?”

“And when she comes, just let her enjoy it,” Gansey continued, demeanour unchanged, as if it had yet to occur to him that he was scarring Adam with this conversation forever. “Taper off, but don’t overstimulate her. Not all girls like that. Well, it’s different for everyone. You should talk to her first; find out what she likes, what she doesn’t like, etcetera, etcetera…”

Gansey now looked ready to take Adam’s questions. He fixed him with an airily inquisitive look, as if to ask _was that useful?_ as he finished off his beer.

Adam’s face continued to burn, furious as a furnace. “I… I haven’t even _kissed her yet,”_ Adam finally uttered.

Gansey waved it off, unconcerned. “Well, you can’t, can you? Because of the curse. What’s the next best thing? Kiss something else.”

“Jesus,” Adam exclaimed as Gansey chuckled at his own joke, returning the bottle to his lips, only to find it still empty.

Adam stared at him, unable to fathom him. He was seeing a whole new side to Gansey that he’d never thought existed: the dirty, flirty side. The side that made inappropriate jokes and _laughed_ at them. The side that was unapologetic and forthright and shameless. The side that, apparently, had slept with enough girls to be able to confidently direct a friend how to orally please them. Adam knew Gansey consisted of many different and oft conflicting _Ganseys,_ but this particular part of him just didn’t mesh. There were people who ate girls out, and then there was Richard Campbell Gansey the Third. Adam’s head _hurt_ trying to make all the many pieces of him fit together into a coherent picture.

Gansey was an academic, his mind cramped with too many useless facts about irrelevant topics. Adam would never have imagined in a million years that ‘oral sex’ would’ve featured into those archives.

Adam released a breath that sounded more than a little choked; Gansey finally read the mood, minutes and minutes too late. “Adam? You okay?”

Adam’s head slowly shook back and forth. He wasn’t sure that he was. “I’m…” He’d started that sentence, not at all sure where he’d wanted to go with it. Nothing he could say would erase the memory of Gansey’s explicit _advice_ , so what was even the point of talking? He was afraid to broach anymore topics, lest Gansey try to tell him how not to choke on someone’s dick. “I’m… tired,” he finished lamely. “I think I’ll just… crash here.”

Gansey nodded as he sat his bottle beside the others, all clustered together. Adam knew just as Gansey knew that there was more beer to be found in the fridge but, mercifully, Gansey had decided that he’d had enough. “You should sleep in Noah’s room,” he sighed, his eyes sliding closed. They didn’t open for a few long drunk-drowsy moments. “Ronan might come home and… fall on you.”

The still-mortified part of Adam secretly wished it would happen, so he wouldn’t have to face Gansey ever again.

He was still too stunned to move; Gansey rose to his feet first – not as smoothly as he would’ve normally – and lumbered over to his bedside, a slow sing-song hum in his throat. He started to undress himself for bed and Adam found it in him to scramble up to his feet.

“Goodnight, Adam,” Gansey sung out as Adam quickly made his way across the room. He paused at Noah’s door to look back; Gansey was smiling lazily from his bed, cross-legged and shirtless. His cheeks were still pink. He didn’t look nearly as embarrassed as Adam thought he should be; Adam had to be embarrassed for the both of them. “Sleep well.”

“Night,” Adam murmured, and then he slipped inside Noah’s bedroom, firmly shutting the door behind him. The relief of being _away_ from Gansey, out of from underneath his lidded gaze, was almost enough to knock him off his feet. He felt exhausted.

His cheeks rapidly cooled down. When he turned, Noah was right there, one leg slung over the other, sat upon the very end of the bed. He looked in the mood for mischief. He wore a look of amused shock that pained Adam to see, because it meant that he’d heard every word. Noah soundlessly mouthed at him, _“Oh. My. God.”_

The corners of Adam’s mouth turned down.

\----

The next morning, when Adam emerged from Noah’s bedroom just before sunrise, Gansey was already up. He was dressed in salmon and khaki, freshly showered, hunched over a book on his desk in silence. He looked up at the sound of the door opening and just as quickly looked back down again, a small grimace on his bespectacled face. On cue, his cheeks started to colour. “Morning,” he muttered as Adam approached him.

“Morning,” Adam returned warily.

It was silent and awful for a few moments, neither of the boys looking at one another, and then Gansey blurted “I’m so sorry—” just as Adam started “So you remember—”

They both stopped, turned to stare at each other. Adam broke into a nervous laugh while Gansey moaned and covered his face with his hands, overcome with shame. He was back to being a more familiar, animated, inhibited version of _Gansey_ again. His voice came distressed but muffled through his hands. _“God_ , Adam, I’m sorry, I’m—I don’t know why I said all that, that was horribly inappropriate of me. Oh God. Please don’t tell Blue. Or Ronan. Or anyone. Please let me pretend it never happened.”

“Sure thing,” Adam said, flashing Gansey a very thin smile when he looked up. “Let’s never mention it again.”

“Thank you,” Gansey breathed, raw with relief, and Adam nodded stiffly, moving past him. Every step he took felt weighted, unnatural; he felt like he’d sinned in a church. Speaking of— “Did Lynch make it back?”

“He did,” Gansey said brightly, as eager to forget _that_ conversation as Adam. “He came home at two thirty to wake me up. I’d pointed out that he hadn’t bought his whiskey, and he swore and took off again. God knows where he is now.”

“It’s the weekend,” Adam said, shrugging. He picked up his blazer from the back of a chair, which he’d had the forethought to not leave crumpled on the floor all night. He picked a bit of lint from the collar. “He can do what he wants.”

“Hm,” Gansey agreed. “So, what plans do you have for today? Work? That Literature report?”

Adam opened his mouth to tell Gansey that he actually had a date with Blue that evening, but now he didn’t feel very comfortable sharing that information. He was afraid he wouldn’t ever be able to discuss Blue with him again. Everything felt so freshly tainted. “Just… yeah, work,” he said, all casual.

“Right, right… Well, have a good day,” Gansey called out as Adam opened the door to the stairs.

“You too, Gansey,” Adam said as he exited Monmouth.

As he made his way to the Hondayota, shimmery with dew, he tried so hard not to relive the uncomfortable experience. As he pulled out of the car lot and back onto the dusty Henrietta streets, he tried _so,_ so hard not to recall what Gansey had said and commit all the gratuitous little details to memory.

His cheeks burned traitorously for the entire ride home.

**Author's Note:**

> WELP
> 
> come bother me over at [tumblr](http://telekinesiskid.tumblr.com/)


End file.
